So, this was the sitch at the ol’ bachelorette pad last night.
Not bad, right?
Warm fire, cold beer. Winter coziness, and the last sign of summer still in my fridge. It’s a beautiful study in contrasts, really, which is why I bring it up now. Because I have a dish for you that is also a fantastic merging of opposites:
Rich steak and a tart, fresh, crunchy, super green salad. Tomatillos are still around! Go round ‘em up, cowgirls and cowboys. You have a delicious dinner to make!
Then, I organized my pantry and did the same thing there.
Recaulked the tub. Very similar scene.
Finally, I made these crepes for lunch. Ditto.
Sometimes it doesn’t take much to feel awesome, and a lunch like this–it really isn’t much. The crepes part may be a little time-consuming, but it’s worth it. Not to mention that I’d much rather make 1,000 crepes than spend literally even 8 precious seconds organizing shoes. Boooorrrring. This lunch, though? Not boring.
A wise man named Tracy Jordan once said, “Live every week like it’s Shark Week.” That’s sage advice; Shark Week is not the time to doubt ourselves, or hesitate, or worry, or apologize needlessly. Shark Week is the week for your tallest heels, and whatever the manquivalent is. Shark Week is for doing bold things that make you feel like a pygmy shark (those exist!) in a big, huge, scary ocean. Shark Week is a good time to tell your neighbor that your name is not, in fact, Daniella, even though he seems so content calling you that (maybe I’ll hold off on that one till next year, though).
Shark Week is perfect for having a whiskey cocktail “too early,” whatever that means.
I just spent a fantastic couple of days in a place I’m embarrassed to admit I didn’t really know existed. Did you know that there is a ton of amazing wine, food, coffee, and opportunity for adventure in Okanagan Valley, British Columbia? I will probably mention it again on here, most likely while whining that I can’t retire yet. It’s true.
Before I left, I made this bad boy and invited a couple of my favorite people over. It’s the rational thing to do before skipping town: pack your phone charger, make sure you haven’t lost your passport, get pumped about doing the New York Times crossword (in-flight ritual–just me?), make an enormous meal.
This is Pawsome, and we’re going to be friends/roommates for a couple of weeks, while his usual human companions are off gallivanting on a fabulous cruise (HI MELISSA!). Despite his initial shyness, I picked up a very neat trick from this guy: when wanting affection, headbutt somebody in the face. Bonus points if they’re not awake yet.
-The way my foam mattress topper firms up when I’m not using it. Climbing into my own bed after a few days away is heavenly, just… extra heavenly.
-Lavanila grapefruit perfume. I used to think I hated vanilla-scented things… But that’s probably because “vanilla” is often code for “syrupy saccharine-smelling thing that maybe smells like a touch of vanilla too” (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Oh, the things you learn as you age.
-Revlon lip butters: for those of us not yet mature enough for lipstick. It’s like training bras for us lipstick-non-wearers. No one is paying me to say this stuff, and that won’t happen, because obviously I like to compare perfectly nice things to training bras. Oops.
-Garbage. Major, major 90s nostalgia. They’re definitely still around and they’re still just so, so good. Butch Vig is the shaman behind some of my favorite music, and Shirley Manson… No words for Shirley Manson. The woman is from another planet.